Banal Sulahn'nehn
by milgrom
Summary: Solas and the Inquisitor get trapped in the Fade.


The stench of swamp water rain soaks into his bones. His robes and boots are drenched and with every step he sinks ever deeper into the mud. All of them are quiet, save Cole who hums and is otherwise unaffected by the inclement weather. Solas does not like this place and he suspects the others have thoughts quite the same. The Seeker is ever at guard, staying close in flank to ████. She herself is shivering, but determined, eyes prowling the dark shadows for dead and other ghastly denizens.

He had little cause to come so far south, to these black places still struggling to recover from the first men – the ones bearing their quick blood plague that spread to the outlying lands of Elvhenan. They dwelled here and their descendants still reigned. Strange magic they had, and in long memory Solas recalled it had been but another portent of the doom that forever reshaped the lands both awake and Beyond. But such corruption was slow and subtle, a poison that culls its victim in pleasant sleep and goes unrecognized until too late.

They are off the beaten path and come to a small alcove cut naturally in the rocks. It is quiet, too much so and all of them take heed. Solas allows his breathing to slow, focuses his mind and makes the first formation of an incantation swell in the hollow of his throat. Thunder rolls overhead, the heavy rain pours down his spine. Her hand glows sharply, warning in sick pale light of their destination. She grimaces, soft features drawn in hard lines in the presence of the waning sparkling green tear in the Veil – a rift sealed so carelessly wrong. The apostate Widris had used words for things he did not truly comprehend.

The smell is awful here, thick with death. Carrion birds watch them silently, and only fly off when the rift springs to life. Horrors bubble out of the wild tear and Widris, a whorl of sacrificial blood and flame steps onto the stage.

The battle comes alive – magic, steel and sharp exhausted sounds are all that beat echoes upon the surrounding rocks. Cole flits like a bright wisp aflame – he has no shadow, but his light stretches and the naked eye cannot not focus directly on his movement. The sharp steel of the Spirit and the Seeker ring in baleful song as they work their way through Widris' minions. The old mage, touched with the blood of so many, is fierce and his wrath seems to know no end.

Fire, lightning echo against sinister incantations. Spells and steel are stronger for them and Lavellan's mark is an advantage Widris does not expect. The Veil itself gathers around her and stays, shielding her from the worst of Widris' blackened magic. As she clenches an outstretched hand, the gaping wound in the air snaps shut. Widris reels backward, the deep well of power he used to feed his fell magics cut immediately off. Cole and the Seeker move in, and the maleficar speaks his final words muted with a crack of lightning. Solas could not tell if it had been from the sky or the Inquisitor's considerable magic that gave the death blow.

Instead of a steady foot, Solas instead finds a sense of ill luck. Three stood where there should be four. Even as the horses and hart move in now satisfied that the danger has passed. He is wary, as is wise in old, unfamiliar places. Only faint dead whispers of the People could be heard here and his long memory cannot recall what may yet remain in this place.

It is Cole who first gives voice, his little tune muffled by a soft pattering of rain – " _Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you've been_." His voice rings out in childlike wonderment, narrating what is to come. " _Were you up, were you down? Chasing rabbits 'round the town - Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you've been!_ " The Seeker skids to ████'s side, hawk eyes narrowed to slits and knit with worry. Solas too, rushes forward. " _Come, come, bonny Lynne; we've a bed to put you in. It is soft, it is warm - It will shelter from the storm._ " Cole stands aside, hands behind his back and he hums still the tune that slithered a flat narration upon such a perilous scene.

Solas and Cassandra eyes meet – both knew without speaking the damage being wrought by sight of the black lines tracing an ill path on ████'s skin. A small sound, a hiss, a remnant of Widris' final curse told in a death rattle hidden by a final burst of lightning. _It must have been_ , Solas thinks. Twisted magic he searches for now, fell whispers hidden though not quite to his ancient sight – a manifestation of grief shattered into desperate pieces as it crossed over into the mortal realm. Despair, as it was known, a creature endless as the Void itself. The revelation catches in his chest, crushing fear spreads in soaked skin.

"She is being possessed, Seeker." He spoke a truth already known to the Tranquil-touched servant of the Faith. "Help me move her –" A corrupt fell thing took a breath in ████'s skin, trying in its disparaged nature to claim her and stake its freedom. It is a foul, ravaged thing and Cole, in likened form whimpers in response.

Carefully he carries her close to his chest and into Widris' small hut. The roof is sound and though wretched things had happened here, it will serve well enough. Cassandra dons a hood and makes haste on the Inquisitor's hart back to Skyhold – she is of course, the fastest rider and knew best which herbs and tinctures that would serve best.

"The Veil will fall to his will, he wants them to know the old hurts, the reasons –" Cole scratches his forearm anxiously. "Sleep, sleep, step the stones of old starlight –"

"Cole, _please_. Stand watch, if you would." Solas cracks the knuckles in his fine hands and prepares himself to cross over. To quell the devouring beast, he would need to sleep and search her out.

* * *

Darkness. A cold enveloping thing held him. No ground for him to stand. The shifting humid colors of the fade that were familiar did not find purchase in this place. Behind him a small flicker, a way out. "Inquisitor," he dared to whisper. " ████," he searched for the faintest sign of _any_ living presence.

" _Ma shiral uth'vir sahlin, ha'lin. Dirth ma_ : what will you find? What will you see once more?" He caught an answer in ancient words and followed them, feet sure as his pride that he would find purchase. Time did not pass, it never does in dreams such as these, and he found a path he did not well wish to follow.

Light came then, revealed a tree without leaves sun-bleached white like bones left out overlong. A pale reflection of the sun shone amid its bent boughs and the horror spoke behind it. "You walk the eternal path, _**my**_ eternal path. You are trapped, and soon you will be bound." Even so, Solas dared his approach and found himself blocked by a barrier of considerable strength. ████ was just ahead, knees threatened to bend and bow fealty to the scavenging predator. Its will began its feast upon hers and as such, Solas found his power waning. To hold open the small doorway behind him that promised an end to this nightmare made real and to pull her very soul from the jaws of despair would rend him asunder despite his ancient and deep well of power.

He could curse his folly and luck at his now daunting, perilous task, but he did not. He held a small mastery here, however strained. There was still a small hope and wanton desire for vengeance the beast within knew too well. Despair had _dared_ to tread where he had already long laid claim. The Fade was ever bent to his will and it showed itself in the wolves that had called in merry tune of hunger and desire. Despair wormed its way into ████'s mind and found those snowy beasts that had nearly won a fine meal after the destruction of Haven. Luck turned slightly and Solas reached out as much as his magic would allow. The Weave danced, its fluttering visage like light refracted in a sweltering sun. His limbs ached and his mouth and throat strained to move sound and shape.

Shadows that he mastered long ago responded. Memory came with it, long forgotten bouts of savage madness fueled by his many sins and the ill-fated mind of ████. Their minds merged and wills fought and shred each other mad and wild – the orb that knew the touch of divinity had marked her, and now his similar will that had brought into being lashed back at its old master. Were he awake the breath would have been forced from his chest. The way out nearly slipped from his grasp because of their polarized bearings.

"Why are you doing this?" A small voice renewed him then and he felt the weight of its peril keenly.

Despair sensed his presence on its hunting ground, searched for him from its throne. But ever the Dread Wolf stalked in shadows cast by moonlight. Their power matched, though clever cunning was ever the Fen'Harel's true strength. Three eyes opened and they were blood red wrathful things to behold. It was a burst of life, anger of unforeseen consequence. Its howl was wounded mad and though Solas loathed to allow it loose, its need now outweighed what was right.

The beast reached out with the consent of Solas' ancient utterances. It slipped silently in solvent shadows to her side and the will it took nearly tore his being to shreds. If he had a mind he would have wondered if it was the mark inadvertently given that fought against his will now, but the strain would have been too much. He felt pieces of him flood back and it was nearly enough to force him back into the waking realm.

In a desperate display of his own, Fen'Harel commanded his now corporeal form to bare its stained red maw and defend Despair's intended victim. Unfathomable, undying magic issued forth from terrifying jaws and ████ fell back in further fear from the vision.

" _Do not look_ ," it bade in a dead tongue. " _Shut your eyes and_ _ **do not dare**_ _to_ _look_ ," it growled in warning.

His magic split into thirds – a visage of black for terror to be feared, a gray shadow to hide intent and a white pervading silence that had long consigned itself to regret. Grief uncorrupted was the depth of Fen'Harel's nature. Countless sins had made him and a long held need to set things back to right. His name was a curse, however and he was doomed always to the chaos that had been his original nature. From neither Void or Veil had he come, the wolf who once walked first under the ancient moon.

Such was enough to drive back Despair, to make it tremble and feel fear like that it made. To the deep places it returned, condemned to hide and mourn its near won freedom. The strain lessened on the dreaming mage who still held desperate to the way back to waking, but the wolf was left unsatisfied and began to question the will of its master. _Why not a small feast on the little child touched by our mark_ , it scoffed.

It waited for no answer but its hunger remained silent and patient. " _Da'seth'lin_ ," spoke the nasty wolf. " _Ar lasa mala revas_." You are now free – It would have smiled in its gregarious lie and it begged her to name him. Solas waned further, still unable to reach her entirely. He saw the vision now, as if he were the one to witness. Thick snowdrifts had them to their waists. Wind blew strong and sharp and tore at Fen'Harel's mangy fur and the bare bits of ████'s cloak. This place was hers, made of her memory and pulled to the forefront by Despair. She held them both now, while the fading parts of Solas held tight to the way home. He could only watch and hope his truest nature did not devour them both.

"Shall we find the way together, child or would you rather stay here in your dread?" It disposed of riddles, a small hope that Solas' still held well to the reigns of the very essence of madness. Despair was gone now, true, but they were both held trapped in a cage of slumber. This was unexpected and Solas could feel his will nearly shattered. He held though, waiting for ████ to rise and somehow find him. The tables were turned and yet their minds were in a portion of tandem.

The wolf bowed its head to her, though Solas could not control the visceral hunger that lay in its eyes. "You made this place, you know the way though I scarcely recall giving you leave to come and play. But I hunger not, child, never fear, my master still holds a frayed leash about my being." The wolf's color shifts in flat shades. Its voice is a tumble of a twisted invite of false trust and complacency. "He bids me follow you and for you to follow me."


End file.
